The Valley of the Shadow of Death
by michael t
Summary: Episode 15 of the Trick Chronicles, in which Buffy and her friends begin a long and dangerous passage through deadly surroundings.
1. Chapter 1

Recommended listening:

"Red Right Hand" by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

"All My Favorite People" by Over the Rhine

"It Makes No Difference" by My Morning Jacket

The Valley of the Shadow of Death

By

Michael Walker

Kenneth Singleton zipped up his jacket. The winter nights got cold this far north in California. No one had told him that when he'd moved eight years ago. Granted, it was a lot warmer than Ohio, but when the wind cut through like tonight, it made a man grateful for well-insulated coat. The fluorescent-yellow reflective strips crackled as he moved his arms. He went down the five concrete steps and crossed the rail yard. When he reached the edge of the yard lighting, he clicked on his MagLite. He felt the fool, stumbling around out here in the dark on loose gravel, all because somebody on the 2:30 southbound thought they saw something on the side of the track. 'Pretty big' was the description. Singleton snorted. Probably a trash bag, caught on spike or a switch. Let those things get flapping around in the dark, they could spook you pretty good when you saw them out of the corner of your eye. That's what he was going to find, and he'd groan and bitch about it, but it had to be checked out.

His radio crackled to life. "Hey, Ken where you at? You there yet?"

He keyed his transmitter. "Hold your horses. It's still a ways."

"They said it was before the eastbound switch, so you should be coming up on it pretty soon. Unless you're moving even slower than usual."

"Screw you," Singleton replied. "Twenty-two months till retirement."

"Not that you're counting."

"That's right, not that I'm counting." Singleton laughed as he played his flashlight beam along the ground. "Hey, I think I see whatever it is. Call you back when I got it." He stopped and looked at the shape, a dark bulk against the night and the oil-stained gravel. He touched his mic. "Looks like we got somebody sleeping one off. I'll move 'em along." He walked forward, his approach noisy over the gravel. Jeez, how drunk was this guy? Didn't even move. Singleton played his flashlight over the body as he drew nearer. His mouth turned down in a frown as he grabbed the radio.

"Dispatch, we need EMTs out here immediately! Do you read me? Get an ambulance out here right now!"

* * *

The EMT bumped the gurney against the bumper to collapse the legs. The stretched slid smoothly into the ambulance and locked into place. He clambered up into the vehicle. The vehicle rolled forward, red and yellow light flashing. He picked up the radio.

"Sunnydale Medical, this is unit two-two-three. We are inbound with a white male, age approximately eighteen to twenty-two. He appears to have a broken radius and ulna, blunt force trauma judging from the large hematoma in the upper left quadrant of the back. His left leg is injured, extent unknown, but I'm guessing tears of the anterior cruciate, posterior cruciate, and medial collateral ligaments with possible rupture of the patellar tendon. Subject is semi-conscious and may have suffered some form of head trauma. ETA is ten minutes."

As the ambulance turned onto the surface street the driver flicked on the siren.

* * *

Willow Rosenberg lay flat on her back. Her eyes rolled back and forth like someone speed-reading, but there was nothing written on her ceiling. Her arms and legs trembled; her body arched slightly beneath the covers. Suddenly she gasped and fell back, limp. She blinked and moved her arms and legs. Satisfied that she controlled her limbs, she swung her feet over the side of her bed and sat there, head in her hands.

* * *

The ER doctor snapped the X-rays into the light box and flipped the switch. "Oh, wow," he said. "Look at that knee." He turned to the nurse. "Get this guy at the top of the list for an ortho consult ASAP." He moved to the next set of pictures. "Both bones broken, buuuuut pretty cleanly. Huh, look at that. Looks like it's the second time he's broken this arm. We'll cast that Is he out of the MRI yet? Any neuro damage? Okay, then, let's cast the arm, drain the hematoma and clean and dress the various surface lacerations and abrasions." He turned off the light. "The knee gets checked tomorrow—check that, later this morning—and a neurologist takes a second look at the MRI, see what kind of eggs got scrambled." He blew out a breath. "What did this guy do, tangle with a train? What? Well, I feel like a jerk."

* * *

Cordelia Chase rolled over on her back and looked up at the ceiling. One arm lay on her stomach; the other was thrown across her forehead. The trees on the lawn swayed in the wind, their branches painting a moving pattern as they passed through the beams of the security lights. She lay there, no possibility of sleep, listening to the sounds of the house and her own breathing as it came in short hitches and gasps.

* * *

"Motherfucker!" Mr. Trick screamed. "Motherfucker!"

Delilah rushed into the office. He turned on her, eyes yellow and forehead ridged. "Get out!" he shouted. "Get out!" Delilah complied immediately, carrying only a brief glimpse of an overturned chair and a smashed desk lamp. Two of the security staff met her in the hallway. She held up a hand and shook her head. The three vampires stood in the hall, flinching at the sounds of breakage and swearing. They stood there for a long time, until at last the sounds slowed and faded. Delilah shifted nervously from one foot to the other.

The door was flung open and Trick stepped out, straightening his tie. "Get that cleaned up," he said as he stalked past her, "and order replacements for everything." Flustered, Delilah nodded and hurried into the office.

She stopped short, unaware of the two vampires bumping into her. She simply stood and stared open-mouthed at the office.

The furniture had been reduced to sticks and splinters. Lighting fixtures hung from wires, the computer smashed and sparking, holes in the drywall. Her eyes took it in and she turned slowly to the others.

"Get some people down here right now," she said in a shaky voice. "Fix this quick and fix it right." They hurried away to do as she commanded. Delilah turned back to survey the wreckage. A tight little knot formed in the pit of her stomach.

* * *

Buffy fought her way to wakefulness like a non-swimmer trying to breach the surface—slowly and with a great deal of thrashing. With a great, gasping heave she sat up in bed. She looked around wildly, her gaze falling on her mother. Joyce stood in the doorway, leaning against the jamb.

"Mom…" she said in a small voice.

Joyce nodded. "I know. Willow told me."

Buffy's head dropped to her knees. "Mom, what'll I do?"

Joyce crossed the room and knelt beside her daughter's bed. "Buffy, listen to me. Listen to me like you've never listened before." The Slayer turned her head until one eye stared at her mother. Joyce placed a gentle hand on Buffy's head and continued. "This is not your fault."

"Mom, I-"

"Hush." Joyce smiled. "That's probably not good parenting, but I'm not going to listen to you blame yourself. What Faith did isn't your fault."

"But there are things you don't-"

"I know that Faith's Watcher died. I know that you were involved. I know it was terrible, but I also know that it's been eating you up inside. And I know Faith is angry, but she's not angry at you."

A bitter smile touched the visible corner of Buffy's mouth. "I was pretty much the direct object last night. She was very clear about it. To the point of pain."

Joyce shook her head. "I doubt if she even realizes it. If you could ask her, she'd say she was mad at you, but it wouldn't be true. She's throwing it at you because it's too painful to admit what she's really angry about."

Buffy's head came up. "Then what?"

Joyce patted her daughter's arm. "I think for the first time Faith realizes how awful her old life was. Her parents failed her, everything failed her. Before she became a Slayer, she didn't know that. It was just her life, but now… now she's seen that not everyone is alone and scared and unloved. Worse, she didn't just see it from the outside. She experienced it with Lindsay, and even, I think, with you." Joyce shook her head. "Losing Lindsay frightens her, because to Faith, it means she's doomed to go back to that old life, and she doesn't want that. But it's too hard for her to ask for help, or she doesn't have the skills to recognize that, so she falls back on what she always had. Anger." Joyce smiled a crooked smile as she rubbed Buffy's arm.

"Mom, that was really… deep," Buffy said. "When did you start channeling Sigmund Freud?"

Joyce took a deep breath. "Oh, I don't have to do that. Do you realize how much I blamed Mr. Giles when you ran away? How I combed over our relationship looking for the mistake I'd made that caused this? How much I wanted to accuse Xander or Willow of being bad influences?"

Buffy's eyes widened. "Mom, I-"

Joyce held up her hand. "I know. And I knew it then, but it was just too hard to live with the idea that my daughter was gone for no good reason. So I invented reasons until I finally had to admit that it had just happened. And that was the hardest thing of all, because if I couldn't find the cause, then I couldn't fix it." Joyce's eyes gleamed. "Faith doesn't know how to fix it, so she's doing what seems like the next best thing to her. She's breaking it." She stood up. "Now, breakfast?"

Buffy's eyes widened in astonishment. "What?"

"You can't go to school on an empty stomach."

"Mom, I can't even think about-"

"Yes, you can." The Slayer's mother cut her off in mid-sentence. "You can't lie in bed and wish it all away. I spent three-" Joyce's voice caught; she swallowed and began again—"three months scared and worried out of my mind about you. The worst days were the ones where I just sat on the couch and came up with horrible story after horrible story of what might have happened to you. What happened last night was bad, but it's not impossible to bear. Xander's not the first boy to cheat on his girlfriend. Cordelia's not the first girl to have her heart broken. Faith's not the first girl to sleep with another girl's boyfriend. I understand that there's a… subtext to all this for you, but it's still what it is. And you're going to school. Because you need to, and because my daughter, Buffy Anne Summers, does not run away from anything. Not anymore."

The Slayer bolted from the bed and grabbed her mother in a fierce hug. "I love you, Mom."

"And I love you too. Now, get dressed while I get breakfast."


	2. Chapter 2

The Cherokee stopped in front of Sunnydale High. Buffy looked over at her mother. "I'm still willing to consider staying home today."

Joyce showed her no-nonsense face. "Out, young lady."

The Slayer complied, then turned back. "Thanks, mom. I'll see you after school."

"You'd better," Joyce muttered as she put the Jeep in gear and drove away. Buffy squared her shoulders and walked toward the school. As she went up the steps, Willow fell into step beside her. The redhead leaned over and spoke in a conspiratorial whisper as they walked.

"I haven't seen Xander or Cordelia. No Faith either, but that's not exactly a big 'Oh, Wow.'" Willow's mouth twisted to one side. "How are you?"

"Bad, but not Sylvia Plath bad. There will be no readings from _The Bell Jar_." The Slayer took a deep breath as she walked. "I got words of wisdom from my mom. They were surprisingly… wise."

Willow shrugged and nodded. "That's good. I'm just so… confused. I feel so bad for Xander, but he did a bad thing, a really, really bad thing, and then I feel bad for _Cordelia_, which, hello, plot twist from left field? This is all just getting _too_ complicated. I don't even know who the good guys and bad guys are any more, and that's just on _our_ team."

Buffy put a hand on Willow's arm. "Deep breath, Will. Breathe in pink, breathe out blue."

"I mean it, Buffy. My head's about to explode like Britney Spears." Willow frowned. "I mean, first we have to get used to the idea that Cordelia knows about vampires, then she starts dating Xander, which is, like, another plane of strangeness, and then Xander cheats on _her_, making it, like, dogs and cats living together. We're talking Old Testament levels of weirdness here." Willow shook her head. "I don't think I can keep up."

The Slayer shook her head as they pushed through the door. "Will, you… Uh oh, I don't like the looks of that." Willow followed Buffy's gaze and saw Giles looking around, his posture clearly indicating agitation. Buffy hooked Willow's arm. "Let's see what's the what."

Giles saw them and hurried in their direction. Buffy frowned as her Watcher bumped into a girl and hastily apologized.

"Okay, Giles," she said as they met. "What's so important that you actually made human contact?"

"What? Why are you…? Oh, you don't know. You don't know." Giles looked up at the ceiling, breathing hard.

"Giles," Willow said, "do you have any medication that we don't know about that you forgot to take this morning?"

"What? Don't be silly. It's Xander."

"What?" Buffy and Willow spoke as one.

"I thought you knew. I thought you could tell me-"

"Giles!" Buffy's chin thrust forward. "Pictionary isn't supposed to be verbal. Take a deep breath and use small words to form short sentences. What about Xander?"

Giles bit his lip. "He's in hospital."

"What!" Again in unison, only an octave higher.

"We got one of those messages on the machine-"

"An e-mail on the computer?" Willow prompted.

"Yes, thank you. Sorry. Stress is making me revert to old habits." His head dipped down as the bell rang.

"Giles?" Buffy arched her eyebrows. "Information, not exposition."

"Yes. Xander is in hospital. There wasn't any real information, but the e-mail did say it was serious."

"Serious, as in…" Willow's voice died away as she tapped her neck with two fingers of her left hand.

"Oh, God, I hadn't even thought of that." Giles turned away in frustration.

"Let's all catch a wave and surf back to sanity," the Slayer said. "I think that all the vamps in Sunnydale shoot for the morgue, not the emergency room. Being in the hospital is bad enough. Let's not go to the worst place until we know for sure." She shifted her books to her other arm. "Which we should probably do right now."

"Not a good idea," Willow breathed beside her. Buffy looked over her shoulder, following Willow's line of sight until she saw Principal Snyder standing at the end of the hall.

"Unfriendly eyes are watching," Willow said.

"Tiny unfriendly eyes," Buffy added.

Willow nodded every so slightly. "Tiny, prying, unfriendly eyes." Her lips barely moved. "Do we have a plan?" Snyder began to walk toward them. "Giles," Willow whined, her voice rising.

"Go to class. Let me find a way to go the hospital and check on Xander."

"What about Faith and Cordelia?" Willow's voice was jittery. Snyder was halfway down the hall.

"What about them?" Buffy hissed.

"They're not here either," Willow replied.

"I'll see if they're at the hospital. If they're not, you should try to find them after school." Giles turned and proceeded toward the library. Buffy and Willow split, heading down different halls. Snyder stopped, unable to choose which direction to go, then pivoted and went to his office, short legs churning.

Mr. Quisling waited patiently. This was really quite an achievement. Patience was hard to come by when one was spread-eagled against a wall, chains at the wrist and ankles. He concentrated on taking deep, even breaths and alternately flexing and releasing his limbs.

The door slammed open and a short vampire stood in the doorway. Quisling remembered him; the missing three fingers on the left hand, the vicious facial scar.

"So," Quisling said. "Is there any reason for this?" He nodded his head to indicate the restraints.

"I'm sure there is," Coyne grunted. He reached into the hallway and rolled a small tray into the room. He rolled it to within a few feet of Mr. Quisling, then stepped aside. As he did so, a gaunt, spectral figure entered the room. The Reverend stared at Quisling. The man in the suit stared back, unperturbed.

"I'm not sure that I understand why I'm here," Mr. Quisling said.

"You are here because you have been delivered into my hand. I have mortified my flesh before the Lord, that he might show me a way to punish your master for his impudence."

"I'm sorry," said Mr. Quisling. "I don't really understand, but I'm sure that if you will contact Mr. Trick, we can begin the negotiating process."

The Reverend pulled back the white cloth covering the tray. He held up a long, black knife with a wicked hook at the end of the blade. "You misunderstand. You are not here as a ploy. You are not here as a bargaining chip."

Mr. Quisling said, "Then why am I here?"

"You are here to suffer."


	3. Chapter 3

Giles walked as briskly as possible toward the exit. He had found that very few people ever asked what he was doing if he adopted a distracted air and moved as though on an urgent mission. The fact that both things were true in this case just made it easier.

"Mr. Giles. Might I have a word with you?"

Giles stifled a groan and turned around. Principal Snyder stood there, the door on his left, the door to the school office, still open.

"Yes. May I help you?" Giles asked. "I'm really in rather a hurry."

"To go where?" Snyder asked. He made a great show of looking back inside the office, then checking his watch. "I believe that school is still in session."

"Yes. Quite right." Giles gestured toward the exit door. "I was stepping out quickly to…" He thought for a moment, then decided _Why not the truth?_ "In fact, I'm going to the hospital for a few moments to check on Xander Harris."

"What about the library?"

"It will still be here when I get back." Giles glanced down at his watch. "And now I see that it is my lunch so, in accordance with school policy, I have forty-five minutes at my own discretion."

Snyder scowled. "Don't be late."

"Of course not." Giles smiled. Snyder went back into the office. As Giles turned toward the exit, he murmured through gritted teeth, 'Malignant dwarf."

Willow scooped up her Lit book and hurried into the hall. She turned and stopped short to keep from running down Tyler Pittman. The scrawny, homely boy wore a short-sleeved blue plaid shirt. Even Willow thought it was a dorky shirt. It should have _Beat Me Up_ embroidered across the back.

"I'm a little busy," Willow said as she pushed by. Tyler turned and followed her. After a few steps she spoke over her shoulder. "Can I help you?"

"Well," he said, "I haven't seen ya in a few days. When are we gonna get together and do it again?"

Willow stopped short and pushed the boy back against the row of lockers. "First, stop with the 'do it,' okay? Come up with another euphemism because that one is uber-creep. Second, I said I'm busy."

"Come on," he said, a pleading tone entering his voice, "Are you tryin' to tell me that didn't whet your appetite? 'Cause I don't believe it. How can you see somethin' like that and not want to do… um, try it again?"

Willow's eyes narrowed. "Because I didn't really _see_ anything. It was gray and cloudy and indistinct, sort of like the weather in Seattle. It was hard to get there, it was weird and disorienting, and I don't see the point. Does that answer your question?"

Tyler shook his head. "I don't believe you. You can't make me believe you. C'mon, it's too cool. Maybe you need to practice or somethin'. You can't just turn and walk away from it."

Willow stared at him, anger pinching her face. "I don't have the time. Do you understand? I. Don't. Have. The. _Time_. Got it?" She realized that she was leaning in very close and stepped back. "I have to go."

She walked away. Tyler stood in the hall, students moving around him as he stared after her.

Giles got out of the elevator on the fourth floor. He looked at the signs on the wall, which told him that if he followed the red line on the floor he would arrive at the neural intensive care unit. It did, but the process was more difficult than he'd foreseen. He arrived at the unit, a cul-de-sac of curtained alcoves clustered around a circular central nurses' station. A woman in pale lavender scrubs smiled at him from inside the nurses' area.

"Can I help you?"

"I'm sure you can."

"What?" Her smile faltered.

"Oh, excuse me. Dreadfully sorry. Terrible time for…" Giles took a deep breath and began again. "I'm looking for Xander Harris."

The woman looked concerned. "Are you family?"

"Well, practically." Giles tried to present a sincere, friendly demeanor.

"Practically's not yes."

"Well, technically I'm not his family, but I'm one of his teachers at school."

The woman shook her head. "Sorry. You seem like a nice man, but visitor's are family only, and even that's restricted hours."

"I see. Have any members of his family visited him?"

The woman grimaced. "Not on my shift."

Giles put his hands on the counter. "I see. Well, may I inquire as to the nature of his injuries?"

"Sure." The woman took two steps back across the open space and looked through a group of charts. She picked one up and returned to stand in front of Giles. "Surface abrasions and bruising. Concussion due to whiplash, hairline fractures of the left scapula and three ribs below it. Clean breaks of the radius and ulna of the right arm. Looks like there's a notation here that he'll need a complete reconstruction of the left knee." Her eyebrows rose.

Giles cleared his throat. "How… how serious is his condition?"

The nurse looked sympathetic. "None of it's life-threatening, but it's going to take a some time for him to heal. He's going to have a fair amount of discomfort."

Giles nodded. "By discomfort, you mean pain."

"I'm sorry. Yes." She looked at the chart again. "The concussion is the trickiest thing. The knee will be repaired surgically and then he'll have PT. Physical therapy," she said in response to Giles' puzzled look. "The arm's already been cast. The scapula and ribs will just have to heal. The concussion though, time is the only treatment, and it's hard to tell how long it might be before all the effects are gone."

"Thank you." Giles nodded. "By the way, do you have any information about how he sustained these injuries?"

She looked at the chart. "He was found out at the train yard. Honestly, it looks like he may have fallen off a train."

Delilah knocked on the door. It was a timid knock, far less assertive than her usual rapping. There was silence for a long time, then—

"Come in."

Delilah turned the handle and opened the door, the box awkwardly balanced on one hand. Mr. Trick stood behind his desk, facing the wall. His hands were clasped behind his back as he studied a map of Sunnydale affixed there.

"Sir?" she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking, "this was delivered a few minutes ago." She held up the box.

Trick turned from the wall and looked at her. The box was wrapped in brown paper, clear tape securing the seams. "Who delivered it?" he said.

"Security cameras show a white van with black windows pulling up to the front door. It never came to a complete stop. The side door was opened and this-" she hoisted the box "—was placed on the pavement. The van pulled away. It had no license plate."

Trick nodded. "Well, put it down there." He indicated the new desk.

"Shouldn't we have it checked first?" Delilah asked.

Trick shrugged. "Can't be a bomb. No bomb's that light. Might be something magical, but why deliver it like this?" He gestured toward the desk. Delilah put down the box. Trick slit the tape with the nail of his index finger. He peeled away the brown paper to reveal a white cardboard box bound in cotton string. His nostrils flared.

"I don't like that smell," he said. He broke the string and opened the box. Thick layers of bubble wrap swathed whatever was in the box. A sharp, coppery odor filled their nostrils; Delilah felt herself salivate. Trick tossed aside the bubble wrap and pulled out the contents of the box.

It was a charcoal gray suit. It was soaked with blood in several places and the back seam was completely and neatly slit. Blood saturated the cuffs of the trousers. The white shirt held blotches of dark-brown dried blood. The tie and belt were stuffed inside the shoes. Trick ran a hand over his mouth.

"Is it…" Delilah couldn't complete the sentence. Trick nodded. "Are you sure?" she asked.

Trick pointed at the clothing. "The suit's a Fioravanti. I don't think anyone else in this craphole has one of those."

Xander woke up. He felt really tired, sluggish, like when he used to stay up all night in junior high watching _Beavis & Butthead_ marathons. His surroundings were unfamiliar. He was under the impression that he was indoors, but when he turned his head to look, he couldn't see wall meeting floor. He struggled to sit up and realized that he wasn't on a bed. He didn't seem to be _on_ anything, yet there was no sensation of floating. He began to feel a little dizzy.

"It's about time. I was wondering when you'd get here."


	4. Chapter 4

Xander tried to place the location of the voice. Of course, _location_ was a relative term. This _place_—if it was even a place; with no details and no point of reference, was that term accurate?—made it hard to tell up from down.

"Still here."

Xander thought the voice sounded like it was behind him. He turned his head toward the voice. At least, he _started_ to turn his head. The rest of his body followed the motion until it rotated to face the speaker. He was a man with pale skin and dark, shaggy hair. He wore a black T-shirt, faded jeans, and Teva sandals. His age was hard to determine but he _seemed_ youngish. His posture was that of a laid-back dude leaning against something, but since there was _nothing_ around him, it looked a little strange. Xander looked down at himself. He wore a short robe-like garment.

"Why am I dressed like this?" Xander asked. "Why are you dressed like that?"

"Well, that's original," the man replied. "Most people ask where they are, or who I am. Tell you what, would you like it better if I looked like this?" He spread his arms. The T-shirt expanded until it was a baggy black kimono, the hem and sleeves decorated with embroidered red characters. The plume of black hair laid down slick against his skull and formed itself into a small ponytail. "How about this?" The kimono shrank and changed colors, turning into a white tunic trimmed in gold. His hair fluffed itself into a mass of ringed curls. "What about-"

"No, the first look is good." Xander took a deep breath as the T-shirt and jeans reappeared. "Why am I dressed like this?"

The man shrugged. "No reason. You feeling a draft?"

Xander thought for a minute. "No. To be honest, I don't really feel anything. This just isn't my usual look, you know?"

"Well, we can fix that." The man nodded. Xander's garment morphed into new, dark blue jeans and a white T-shirt. Xander inspected his new clothing.

"Okay, kinda generic, but better than that _Mama's Family_ housedress thing. Now, who are you, and where am I?"

"_Now_ we get to the usual questions. Your minds all work alike." The man crossed his arms. "One day one of you will break the routine and I won't know what to do."

"I think there was an insult in there," Xander said. "Could you tell me where I am?"

"Which you?"

Comprehension crept over Xander's face. "This isn't me, is it? I mean, it's _me_, but not all of me, right?"

The man tapped his nose with an index finger and pointed at Xander. The boy thought hard. "Okay, I've got a little experience at this sort of thing, maybe. Let's see… Are you in control or am I?"

The man looked impressed. "_That's_ an original question. Maybe you're not as clueless as you seem."

"The fact that you're not answering my question makes me think you're the driver in this chariot."

The man shrugged. "I wouldn't say _that_. I have an agenda, definitely, but there's some leeway for your input. This is more of a mutual exercise. Tell you what, as a sign of good faith, why don't you tell me something you'd like to see. If it's within acceptable parameters, I'll do it."

Xander held up his hand. "Not so fast. Another question. Am I dead and you're here to show me what my life meant, or am I still alive and you're supposed to teach me some sort of lesson to change my future self?"

The man looked thoughtful. "Let me get this straight. You're asking me if this is your _It's A Wonderful Life_ or if it's your _Christmas Carol_. Is that right?"

Xander looked offended. "When you say it like that, it makes me seem like such a cheap pop-culture junkie. So… yeah."

"Interesting. You're really getting outside the usual box here. Color me impressed." The man walked over to Xander, although what he was walking _on_ was not readily apparent. "Let's see something that will answer some questions and maybe give us a jumping-off point, okay?" He leaned toward Xander. "FYI, sometimes this makes people queasy, at least the first time."

The nothing around them bulged and then snapped back, coagulating into recognizable forms. Xander realized that he was in a hospital. He saw a semi-circular grouping of beds, divided by Plexiglas partitions and opaque curtains hung on aluminum rails. He became conscious of the fact that he was looking _down_ on this scene. He looked down and realized that he was suspended in mid-air, not floating, but not on any solid surface, either. His stomach lurched.

"Do we need to go down?" the man asked. Xander nodded and they descended to the floor. As his feet touched the floor, Xander looked at the bed in the unit.

"That's me, isn't it?" he asked. The man started to nod; Xander held out a hand. "Rhetorical. I recognize myself." He turned to the man. "Why am I in the hospital."

The man jerked his head toward the bed. "Your chart's right there. Go read it yourself." His face became concerned. "You _are_ literate, aren't you?"

"Ha ha," Xander said. He crossed the room and turned back. "I'm assuming I can't pick up things." The man nodded. Xander squatted at the foot of the bed and read the chart hanging there.

"Ha!" he said, rising to his feet. "Right there. Concussion."

"You're happy about that?"

"Concussion means I bounced my brain around." Xander paused, frowning. "I actually kinda remember that. It hurt." He shook his head and looked at the man. "But that means this whole thing, you, everything, it's not necessarily real. The whole thing could just be brain damage."

The man pursed his lips. "'More of gravy than the grave,' huh? Never mind," he said, seeing Xander's blank look. "Go on."

"I made you up. This is all from a bruise on my brain."

"Maybe." The man nodded in a reasonable manner. "But there's still things to be done."

"Like what?"

"You need to see some things. You need context. Details to complete the picture."

"What picture?"

The man held up his hands. "Just remember this. If this is all in your head, then you already had the information. We're—or I guess _you_ if your theory's right—just putting it together in a different way. So, you ready?"

"For what?" Xander asked.

The man winked; there was the sensation of space expanding and contracting. Xander's stomach flipped.

"So his life's not in danger," Buffy said. She had gone to the library immediately after school, along with Oz and Willow.

Giles shook his head. "Apparently not. His injuries _are_ severe, but apparently not life-threatening."

"And we can't go in and see him?"

"The nurse was very clear about that."

"What do you think happened? Did Mr. Trick beat him up, or did they set a trap for him?" Willow leaned forward, her forehead wrinkled in concern.

"Nah," the Slayer said. "If that's what happened, he'd be dead or we'd be getting notes with the letters clipped out of magazines."

"The nurse said that it appeared that Xander might have fallen from a train." Giles pushed up his glasses. "He was found out at the rail yard."

Buffy and Willow exchanged glances. "That sounds like Faith," Buffy said. She stood up. "I'll go by the ValleyView, see if I can find Miss Thing and figure out what happened."

Willow stood up as well. "I'll come with."

Buffy looked at her best friend. "You don't need to, Will. Faith might be… touchy."

Willow lifted her chin. "Yeah, well, your fuse can get pretty short too. Somebody needs to be there who wants to talk first and punch later."

A slow smile spread over the Slayer's face. "Okay. Let me call my mom and tell I'll be later than planned."

They stood in a bedroom, a girl's bedroom to judge by the colors and décor. Xander turned and saw a girl, maybe eight or ten years old, sitting at a desk in front of a window. "Gah," he yelped as he jumped back.

"Oh, man up," Simeon snapped. "Standard rules apply. She can't see or hear us, blah blah blah, _A Christmas Carol_, blah blah blah."

Xander took a step forward. The girl was bent over a piece of paper. Colored pencils littered the desktop. The girl looked up at an indistinct noise. Xander's eyes widened.

"Cordelia?" he said. He turned to the man.

"You recognize her?" the man asked.

Xander snorted. "We've gone to school together since kindergarten. Of course I recognize her. Once I saw her." He turned back. Young Cordelia continued working on her picture. Xander leaned over to get a better look. She was drawing a picture of a house, a house with a man, a woman, and a girl beside it.

"Well, I already knew Cordy wasn't much of an artist, so I don't see what this is-" Xander stopped as the man cut him off with a wave of his hand. Xander glared at the man. As he did, a rumbling noise grew louder. He opened his mouth to speak, but the man pointed behind him.

Xander turned. The young Cordelia pressed her hands to her ears. Her eyes were closed, picture and pencils forgotten. The rumbling grew more intense.

"What is that?" Xander asked.

"Sorry, I really can't do anything about the audio. Besides, it's about time to go?"

"Really?" Xander cocked his head. "I'm supposed to learn something from this? What?"

The man shrugged. Space expanded and contracted.

"Well, that doesn't look good." Buffy and Willow stood in the gravel lot of the ValleyView and surveyed the broken door of #6. The Slayer turned to her friend. "Let me go in first, just in case there's something big and bad in there, or in case it's really… gross. OK?"

Willow nodded. "Extremely OK. I'm here to mediate conflict, not initiate it."

The Slayer approached the door. She reached around to the small of her back and extracted a stake from the waistband of her red-and-black plaid skirt. She paused in front the door, then kicked it off its remaining hinge and leaped into the room.

Willow took a sharp, involuntary breath and shifted from one foot to the other. Her eyes grew wide and round. Buffy appeared at the door, clothing straight and stake unstained. She shook her head.

"Nobody here," she said. "No sign of a struggle, either. And both bags are gone."

"Faith's gone?" Willow asked.

"Looks like it to me," Buffy said.

"What do we do?"

The Slayer shrugged. "I don't know."

Willow squinted. "What about Cordelia?"

"What about her?" The Slayer slipped her stake back into her waistband.

"If Faith beat up Xander, she might go after Cordelia." Willow's eyes opened wide. "She wasn't at school today, either!"

Buffy thought about Willow's words. "It's worth a shot. If Faith's really gone troppo, she just might decide that Cordelia's got to pay. I'm not sure we'll be very welcome at her house, though."

"She might not know about Xander," Willow offered.

"Yeah, that's true. Okay, if Cordelia's okay, we'll tell her that we just wanted to make sure she knew about Xander. Then we'll be on our way."

"Sounds like a plan," Willow said.

"Let me go call my mom. She'll give us a ride." The Slayer hiked across the parking lot toward the office.

Delilah's knees shook so hard she could barely walk down the hall. She couldn't carry the box, so she'd drafted another vamp for that awful duty. After the delivery earlier in the day, she was pretty sure this wouldn't be good news.

It took her three tries to be able to knock on the door. No voice responded; this time Trick opened the door. Delilah tried to swallow the lump in her throat.

"A-A-Another box," she stammered.

Trick looked at her through hooded eyes. "Was this one left at the front door?"

She shook her head. "No, we were watching there. This one was at their old warehouse."

"So they were gone?" Trick's tone made it clear that he already knew the answer.

"Yes." She held out the box. Trick took it from her and placed it on his desk. The smell was stronger on this package. Trick slit the tape and opened the box. The contents were wrapped in blood-soaked towels. Trick placed the gory parcel beside the box and carefully unwrapped it.

Delilah's eyes grew wide and terrified. "Is that…?" she gulped.

"Yeah." Trick's voice was low and flat. "They skinned him."

"Thanks, Mom," Buffy said as she and Willow slid out of the Cherokee. "We shouldn't be very long."

"It's all right. I'll wait right here." Joyce had parked on the street. The long driveway to the Chase house turned right off the avenue, then curled away to the left. A low stone wall encircled the large lot; the wrought iron gates were open.

Buffy and Willow hiked up the drive, surveying the sprawling Craftsman-style house with its two stories of brick and stone façade broken up by huge windows. "I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in," Buffy intoned.

"What?"

The Slayer shook her head. "I don't think Faith's been here. If she saw this house, she'd wig. It'd be a smoking pile of rubble."

"It's kind of funny," Willow said as they turned off the drive onto the flagstone-paved walk. "I've known where Cordelia lives all my life, but I've never been here."

Buffy looked at her friend and smiled. "It's her loss, not yours."

"You're just saying that."

"No, I'm not. It's true." They stepped onto the covered porch. Buffy looked at Willow. "You ready?"

Willow snickered. "No."

"Me neither." The Slayer rang the doorbell.

A tall, slender woman dressed in black slacks and a shirt with wide black-and-white stripes opened the door. Behind her the two girls could see a soaring, two-story foyer with a curved staircase sweeping up the right-hand wall. She looked down at them for an uncomfortable amount of time. The silence grew unnervingly long.

Buffy cleared her throat. "Uh, are you Mrs. Chase?"

The woman snorted and turned. Liquid sloshed from the heavy cut-glass tumbler in her hand. "I suppose your friends of Cordelia's," she said. The sibilant consonants were slightly slushy.

"Uh, yeah," Buffy said nervously, stepping over the threshold. Willow followed a step behind, darting quick glances around the Slayer. "I'm Buffy Summers and this is-"

"What the _hell_ are you doing here? What are you doing in my house?"

Buffy and Willow looked up. The second story was open to the foyer. Cordelia stood on the landing, her hands gripping the railing like a drunk gripping a lamppost. Buffy noticed that Cordelia wore navy blue pajama pants with orange and yellow triangles and a white T-shirt. The erstwhile Queen C's hair was an unholy mess.

She came rushing down the stairs, her feet bare. "Get out! Get out!" Buffy and Willow backed up in the face of Cordelia's mad rush, unnerved by the shouting more than any fear of physical confrontation. As Cordelia reached the bottom of the stairs, they stepped back onto the porch.

Cordelia flew across the foyer, reaching for the door. As she grabbed it, her mother said, "Come again, girls" and laughed. The heavy door slammed in their faces. Buffy and Willow stood there, blinking.

"We never got to tell her about Xander," said Willow.

"No, we did not," Buffy said.

"We didn't ask her about Faith," said Willow.

"No, we did not," Buffy said.

"Should we ring the doorbell again?"

Buffy's head snapped around, eyes wide. "Willow, this is so not the time. Let's go."

They hustled down the sidewalk and out to the driveway. They were halfway to the street when Willow spoke.

"Y'know, I don't have a lot of experience with this, and so I could be wrong, and I hope I am, but… Buffy, was Cordelia's mom drunk?"


	5. Chapter 5

"Okay, I remember, I remember this. This would be, like, seventh grade."

Xander and his companion were back in the Chase household. Cordelia stood in front of the mirror, turning back and forth, examining her reflection with great care.

"Sure it's seventh grade?" the man asked.

"Oh, yeah," Xander said. "I remember the haircut. And the outfit. She spent half her time trying to look like Uma Thurman in _Pulp Fiction _and the other half looking like an extra in a Bon Jovi video."

"Really?"

"Fingerless lace gloves, crimped hair and everything."

"You had a keen eye for fashion."

Xander shrugged. "Okay, that and she was starting to… develop."

"Go for the gold."

As they watched, Cordelia frowned and looked at the door. She hurried out of the room. Xander followed as she walked to the rail, looking down at the foyer. A man walked across the floor, followed by a woman. The man looked distracted and annoyed, the woman angry. Xander couldn't hear what they were saying, only a fuzzy buzzing noise. The man opened the door. As he did so, the woman grabbed him by the sleeve of his suit jacket. The man yanked his arm away from her and left. The woman stood there for a moment. Her body language indicated that she was shouting. Cordelia turned from the rail and rushed into her room. As she wheeled, Xander forgot the 'can't-see-can't-hear' rule. He jumped back. Cordelia stalked past him and went into her room. The door swung closed; he assumed it was slammed, but the sound was still funny.

Xander turned to the man. "Y'know, I gotta say that I'm disappointed."

"How so?"

Xander looked around. "This. It's really pretty pedestrian. I mean, if I'm piecing this together right, Cordelia's parents fight. Wow. That's groundbreaking. No, wait, it isn't. Everybody's parents fight sometime. My parents fight like John Wayne and Lee Marvin, and in much less swank accommodations, I might add. So, forgive me if I'm not wowed by this whole community theater _Poltergeist_."

"Well, it's your theory that I'm a figment of your imagination, so blame yourself."

"Willow, are you sure you don't want a ride home?" Joyce looked in the rearview mirror.

"No, no, the library's fine," Willow said, her head bobbing. She turned to Buffy. "I just realized that it's almost your birthday. Everything's been so crazy, it just snuck up on us."

"I don't know, Will," Buffy said. Skepticism was written on her face in three languages. "Recent history would suggest that my birthday is best left unremembered."

"No way," Willow protested. "You'll be eighteen. That's a big deal. Attention must be paid."

Buffy shook her head. "There's way too much craziness. I mean, everything that's going on, it…" She glanced up and saw her mother's worried eyes in the mirror. "Let's just say that a birthday party doesn't make the cut."

"No." Willow's face clouded. "Hell, no!"

"Will." Buffy's astonishment wasn't all false. "Grab hold and rein your bad self in."

"I know there's… lots of… bad stuff around." Willow glanced at Joyce. "But there's always bad stuff around, and, and if we let it take everything away from us, then what's all the fighting about?"

"Willow, it sounds suspiciously like you're saying that if I don't have a birthday party, then evil triumphs."

"Same as."

"I agree with Willow," Joyce said as she turned into the school's parking lot.

"You're not helping," the Slayer said, sarcasm heavy in her voice.

"I'm not trying to help. Willow's right. If you look hard enough, there's always a reason to be unhappy. Guess what? Most of those things will still be around for years to come, but you'll only turn eighteen once." She pulled into a parking space and put the Jeep in Park. "Life has plenty of ways to hurt you. Don't turn your back on a chance to feel happy."

"That was beautiful," Willow said. "Although, when I said 'bad things,' you did realize-"

Joyce smiled; it was a small smile. "Yes, Willow, I understand that it wasn't just a figure of speech. Believe me, I'm aware that Buffy's facing bigger problems than a pimple just before the big dance. I think that makes my point even stronger."

"Then it's settled." Willow turned to the Slayer. "We are definitely doing _something_ for your birthday." Her enthusiasm waned a bit. "I don't know how big it will be, because… but we will do something." She scooted out of the Cherokee and ran toward the library."

Buffy turned to her mother. "Ganging up on me with Willow? That was _so_ unfair."

"Yes," Joyce said, looking over her shoulder as the car backed up. "I'm your mother. I don't have to play fair."

When Xander's head cleared, he stood in the foyer of the Chase home, facing the stairs. Cordelia came down the stairs, dressed for a night on the town. She stopped at the foot of the staircase and checked her reflection in the in the rectangular Craftsman mirror. She wore a black satin ribbon choker with a gold rose pendant around her neck. She adjusted it slightly, then smiled. It was obviously a practice smile, studied to gauge its effect and believability. It was blinding. She touched her hair.

"We get it. You're gorgeous," Xander said, more sarcastically than he intended.

"Shut up, you troglodyte," the man snapped.

"Excuse me," Xander said, turning to look at his companion.

"I said be quiet. Not everything deserves your commentary. Just watch."

Xander snorted and turned back. Cordelia walked toward the front door, her Jimmy Choo stilettos doing wonderful things for her stride. She turned her head to say something over her shoulder, then paused, waiting. She turned back and spoke again. She waited, then left the foyer and went into the great room beyond, a room that was dark except for the dim illumination that leaked in around the curtains from the exterior lights. Cordelia reappeared, but she was not alone. She held her mother's hand as she guided the older woman across the floor. Her mom was more than a little unsteady, and as they approached a door in the far wall of the foyer, one foot slipped out from under her. Cordelia tried to catch her and both of them slid awkwardly to the floor. Cordelia struggled to her feet, trying to get her mother upright. The effort was only partially successful, but Cordelia managed to get her mother into the next room. Xander moved to a spot where he could see through the door. Cordelia pulled the blanket over her mom, picked up a pair of shoes, and took them to the closet. She looked at her mother, then walked into the foyer. She picked up her handbag and took out her cell phone. She looked at it for a moment, then put it back in the bag. Xander had watched her enough to recognize her body language; Cordelia was furious.

"Let me guess," Xander said. "This was the night we were supposed to go to Domenico's."

"Awesome deduction," the man said.

"Could you use a little bigger anvil?" Xander said. "Okay, Cordelia's got problems." He waved his hands in the air. "Big deal. Who doesn't? You want a family with a drinking problem? Meet my Uncle Ernie."

"Don't make this into some simple morality play. This is much more important. There's something coming, something big, and for you to have any chance of winning, you're going to need all hands on deck. You, my friend, took two pieces off the board all by your lonesome."

"What? Listen, I know the drill. If springtime's coming, the world must be about to end. I'm familiar with, but what you're saying is ridiculous. I didn't open a door to hell." Xander glanced toward the darkened great room. Cordelia sat in a leather armchair, her profile visible against the drapes. His eyes clouded. "I did a stupid, bad thing and hurt a girl. It happens all the time."

"Could you make this just a little more about you?" The man sounded more than a little vexed. "You didn't simply make a mistake. You really fudged the featherbed. You're out of commission and she-" he pointed toward Cordelia "—won't be any good for the foreseeable future."

"Which makes no real difference. I'm not a major player. Cordelia isn't, either. As long as Buffy's alive and well, Team Scooby still has its superstar." Xander frowned. "Besides, what about Faith? You didn't mention her."

The man shook his head. "Faith is balanced on the knife edge. It's up to her to choose where she will be. You didn't help a lot there, either."

"Hey," Xander protested. "I didn't take off all my clothes on the way up the stairs! Well, I mean, I _did_, but I wasn't the leader."

"No, you just confirmed Faith's worst suspicions about people and what they'll do."

Xander crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders. "You're the worst angel ever."

"Yeah, sarcasm. That'll make it all better." The man took a deep breath and stepped away. "This is not some benign exercise in kitsch."

"Really? 'cause that's _exactly_ what I think it is."

"Fine. Be obstinate and stupid. Deflect everything with what you think is a smartass answer." The man's eyes sparked with black fire. "Then look over your shoulder. Look in there and tell me that you haven't done any real damage to anyone else." He turned and snapped his fingers, and was gone. The Chase house dissolved and Xander was left standing in the middle of the big white nowhere.

"Crap," Xander muttered. "How do I get out of here?"

"Sorry," Willow said as she hurried into the library.

"It's okay." Oz sat cross-legged in the cage.

"You won't believe this." Willow sat on the floor and related the events of the afternoon. "It was crazy," she concluded, "and I mean in both the _this is insane_ sense and the _I can't believe I'm seeing this_ way." She took a deep breath and frowned. "Why are you still dressed?" Oz raised an eyebrow and she blushed. "I mean… usually you're under the blanket."

Oz gestured toward the backpack on the library table. "I brought extra, just in case."

A quizzical look crossed Willow's face. "In case of what?"

Oz sat with his back against the wall. "Give it a minute, and don't take this the wrong way, but we need to be quiet."

Willow frowned again. "Okay." She put her elbows on her knees and her chin on her fists. She sat, not moving, and watched Oz, who was not moving. Time passed, but she could not say how much. She began to feel restless. Maybe a book would help pass the time. She got up and switched on a lamp.

A lamp. She needed a lamp because it was dark. Eyes wide, Willow looked at the clock, then the window. The latter was dark; the former said the time was well past sunset. She wheeled back to the cage.

Oz still sat there, still and composed, his eyes closed. Willow rushed over, opening her mouth, then remembering his admonition. She stopped short and looked at him.

Sweat beaded his hairline and trickled down his jawline. Small, involuntary shudders passed through him, but he remained human. Willow crept backward, as silent as she could be. She sat down on the floor and watched him through the rest of the night. Sometime in the wee hours of the morning, her head dropped and she dozed. At 5:00 AM she tipped forward and woke with a start. Looking at the cage was a reflex action.

Oz was still in the cage. His green T-shirt was soaked with sweat. Perspiration seeped out of his hair and covered his face. He shivered slightly. Willow looked closely and could see his eyes darting back and forth rapidly under the lids. She looked down to his hands. They lay in his lap, fluttering. As Willow watched, she realized that there was a pattern, some sort of intricate convolutions to serve what purpose she did not know. She felt a tear slip down her cheek, hot and scalding. She pressed her fists to her mouth to stifle the sounds she felt welling up inside her.

She remained crouched in that fashion until just after 6:00 AM. Oz exhaled, a breath that drew a shudder from his frame. He swallowed, hard, and his eyes opened. He looked around, blinking, and saw Willow. He looked down and saw his clothing. He looked back up at her.

"So, it worked?" he said.

"Yes," Willow said, rocking back and forth, "yes." She got up and ran into the office to get the keys.


	6. Chapter 6

"No," Buffy gasped, her eyes wide.

"Yes." Willow bit her lip and nodded her head. "All night. He was Oz all night."

"Well, where is he? I think he's earned a hug."

Willow shook her head. "He's at home. Sleeping. He controlled it, but it wasn't easy. He's exhausted."

Buffy shrugged. "Makes sense. So, spill. How'd he do it?"

Willow pulled books from her locker. "I guess he's been working on it for a long time. Ever since he met that Zane guy. He didn't tell me because he was afraid if it failed… Well, anyway, after we fought the pack… you remember, when they were wolves, but it wasn't the full moon?"

"I remember it vaguely," the Slayer said.

"Well, that's when he told me he thought it could be done. But we hadn't really talked about it since, and I had no idea he was this close."

"Okay, I'm up to speed. Now, _how_ does he control it?"

Willow hoisted her backpack to one shoulder and the two girls walked down the hall, oblivious to the students streaming past them. "Well, if I understand it, it involves a regular regimen of different herbs, most of which, apparently, taste really gross. Then there's a series of meditations that he does. It all goes together. He's tried it before and delayed the change for a little while, but last night was the first night it actually worked."

"So, he has to do this all the time?"

Willow nodded. "Yeah. It's not a cure, it's a, a treatment, I guess. Like diabetes. To control it, he has to follow this system."

Buffy shook her head. "Well, it's great." She glanced across the hallway. "Listen, I gotta split for Marketing and Management. I thought we could go to the hospital after school, see how Xander's doing. You game?"

"Sure. Is it okay if Oz comes? He should be rested by then."

"Will, when is it ever _not_ okay for Oz to come? Oops, bell's about to ring. See you after class."

"Find them. Find out where they are. Find out where _he_ is." Mr. Trick sat down behind the desk and spread his hands out on the gleaming black top.

"We'll be combing the city as soon as it's sundown." The speaker was a dried-out vampire with a face like a scimitar.

"I know it's difficult, Bradford. Always hard for technologically advanced forces to combat primitive opponents. Bombing a man back to the Stone Age doesn't have much effect when he thinks that's a pretty good time." Trick leaned back and shook his shoulders, settling his suit. "But you will find him, so have plan ready." Trick pointed a finger. "He killed my protégé. That is unacceptable."

"Why do we have to study English? It's my mother tongue and… stuff," Buffy grumped as she shoved books in her locker.

"If it's any consolation, I don't like English much myself," Willow said.

"It's not." Buffy looked at her red-headed friend. "An 'A' you don't enjoy is still an 'A', Will."

"Hey, your grade's not that bad," Willow said. "Not loving the class doesn't cheapen the achievement."

"Poetry, Will, pure poetry."

"Anyway, we-" Willow stopped short as the Slayer flung out an arm. They both stared, open-mouthed.

Cordelia rounded the corner, striding down the hallway dressed in a black silk T-shirt, black leather pants, and black slouch boots. Onyx jewelry adorned her throat and wrists; her eyes rimmed with black, possibly kohl. The only touch of color was her lipstick, and that was a dark wine red, almost the color of dried blood. She swept toward them, so beautiful and self-possessed that the Slayer almost doubted what she'd seen with her own eyes the day before. As Cordelia drew near, Buffy started to step out to greet her, but the brunette's eyes cut to the side and their gazes met. Buffy stopped. Cordelia went past, through the crowd as eyes turned to follow her. The Slayer stepped back next to Willow.

"Did everything just go into slow motion?" Buffy asked.

"While power chords played?" Willow said.

"By Def Leppard," Buffy replied.

"As they raided Johnny Cash's closet."

"Indeed." Buffy turned to Willow. "This is too of the weird. My wack factor cup is full and running over. I'm going to get some answers."

"How?" Willow asked. "I don't think Cordelia's ready to talk to either of us."

Buffy shook her head. "Don't need her. I think I know where to get the dish." She touched Willow's arm. "See you later."

Buffy found Bryn seated on one of the concrete planters. One foot was propped on the planter's rim as she read a copy of _Breakfast of Champions_.

"Heavy," the Slayer said, hopping up on the planter beside the other girl.

"Hey, Summers. Long time, no see." Bryn placed a finger in her book.

"Yeah, well, you seem to be doing okay," Buffy said.

"Just fine. How's Xander?"

"According to Gi—Mr. Giles, he's probably going to be okay. Just out of action for a while. A long while."

Bryn grimaced. "Sucks."

"Yeah, it does. Bryn, when we were... on our little adventure, you said something about Cordelia, about how she'd changed."

Bryn looked puzzled. "Yeah."

"What happened?"

Bryn shook her head. "Buffy, I'm not really sure I want to talk about it."

Buffy leaned toward the other girl. "I really need to know."

"Well, I think you ought to ask Cordelia."

"I really can't do that."

"Why n–" Bryn's eyes widened. "Did she break up with Xander? Is that what all this is about? Does it have anything to do with him being in the hospital?"

Buffy took a deep breath. "Yeah, yeah, they did. But there's not any connection to his accident. Why did you go there?"

Bryn's shrugged. "Well, when Cordelia wasn't at school yesterday, I thought she might be at the hospital. Then today, she shows up in full viper mode. That's weird. Then you start asking questions about her, saying you can't talk to her and, well, it just kind of clicked in my brain." She squinted at the Slayer. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry, about Xander's accident and the breakup, but why _are_ you asking me about Cordelia?"

Buffy took a deep breath. "You said something about her being my friend. Like it or not, I guess she is, and you may or may not believe this, but I'm worried about her."

"Riiiiiiiiiiiight." Bryn sounded skeptical.

Buffy sighed. "You're gonna make me play dirty, aren't you? Okay." The Slayer hopped off the planter and faced the other girl. "See this card?" Buffy held up an empty hand, palm out toward Bryn, who looked puzzled.

"What card?"

"Oh." The Slayer feigned surprise. "That would be the 'I saved your life' card."

Bryn frowned. "That's low."

"I know, and trust me, I'll hardly be able to live with myself, but that's exactly how low I'm willing to go. Spill."

Bryn looked at the Slayer for a long time. Neither girl blinked. Bryn put down her book and stood up. "I still don't think it's my place to tell you this, but I believe you when you say that you're worried about her. That counts for something. It counts for a lot. It might surprise you, but Cordelia hasn't really had that many people who care about her."

It was Buffy's turn to be startled. "Well, the pack of wannabes sure disguised that."

"And that's exactly what they were, most of them. Or they were scared of her. Lots of people were scared of her."

"But not you."

Bryn shook her head. "No, not me."

"OK, then it's time for the golden ticket. Why not you?"

"Cordelia and her pack share a common attribute which I lack." Bryn stuffed her hands in the back pockets of her ankle-length twill pants. "Buffy, I know it may not sound like it, but I still, well, _like_ isn't exactly the word, but I don't wish anything bad on Cordelia. I don't like talking about her like this."

Buffy stepped up to the bigger girl. "Bryn, I promise you, I _promise_ you that I'm not looking for a way to hurt Cordy. My stomach is starting to ache just listening to you, because I think you're about to tell me something ultra-wrong. But I think Cordelia's in worse shape than we knew, and I… I have to help if I can."

A small, sad smile touched Bryn's lips. "Because that's what you do."

Buffy nodded. "It's what I do."

Bryn thought for a moment. "Have you been to Cordelia's house?"

Buffy shrugged. "Couple of times. Never stayed long."

"You ever look around the neighborhood?"

"Yeah. Other big houses."

"Yeah. Do you know where the Heights are?"

Buffy nodded. "The other nice neighborhood, northwest part of town."

"Your mom runs an art gallery, right? She ever have any shows or receptions there for the upper crust of Sunnydale?"

"What if I told you that there was a common thread that tied all of those women together?"

Buffy's eyes narrowed. "You said 'women'."

"Indeed I did." Bryn looked down at the Slayer. "Oh yeah, and not just them."

Buffy inhaled, exasperation beginning to eat at her composure. "Are you just going to keep getting more and more cryptic or will the last little box ever open?"

Bryn looked away. "Okay, you want it blunt, you got it blunt. If you go to any gathering of women in Sunnydale, regardless of class, a large number of them will have something in common."

"No 'Y' chromosome?"

"Oh, no, they share a 'Y' chromosome. One belonging to Cordelia's father."

"Wh-" Buffy's eyes widened. "Do you mean…?"

Bryn nodded. "Yeah. Mr. Chase likes to sling the dick."

The Slayer considered this information. "Does Cordelia know?"

"Everyone in our social circle knows." Bryn's mouth twisted. "Sorry, I know that sounds _tre_ pretentious, but it's part of the problem. _Pack_ is the proper term for Cordelia's posse. Harmony? Aura? Aphrodisia? Did you ever wonder about that group dynamic, Summers?"

Buffy's head whirled. "You mean… Cordelia's dad… and their moms… ?"

"Oh yeah, and more besides. What's Cordelia's inner circle, fifteen people? I'd say at least, oh, eleven of them."

"And everybody _knows_?" The Slayer felt dizzy.

"One reason the bitch factor is so high."

"How do they… _pretend_ that everything's all right?"

Bryn's face was stone. "Everybody pretends. Have you ever met Cordelia's mom?"

"Once."

"And?"

"The meeting was…brief."

Brynn tipped her head to one side. "Did she have a glass in her hand?"

"Yeah." It popped out before Buffy thought. She looked up at the other girl, eyes wide. "She was…"

"Drunk as a skunk, right?" Bryn chuckled, a dry, mirthless sound. "It's okay, everybody knows that, too. Constance Chase deals with her husband's constant tail-chasing by self-anesthetizing."

Buffy shook her head. "But you… How do you know?"

"Are you wondering if my mom's on the list?" Bryn stretched her neck. "No. But he tried. My mom told my dad. Dad called Mr. Chase and informed him, graphically I might add, what would happen if he ever came near my mom again." She leaned close to Buffy. "They didn't know that I could hear them. Voices got raised a little higher than necessary." Bryn stepped back, her face dark. "So, now you know. I hope it does some good."

Buffy nodded. "I'm really sorry I had to-"

Bryn held up a hand. "Don't. And I know that you probably do want to help Cordelia, but honestly, I don't want to talk to you for a while, Buffy." She picked up her book and stalked away, leaving the Slayer standing alone, her head ringing and stomach fluttering.


	7. Chapter 7

Cordelia took a deep breath as she opened her locker. It took all of her energy to maintain the facade; lunch had been particularly brutal. Harmony was a bitch anyway; she was also possessed of just enough animal cunning to realize that something was wrong. Cordelia was no fool. Soon the entire student body would know about what had happened; that was the way of high school. At some point Harmony would figure out some supposedly clever plan of attack. Before that happened, Cordelia needed to have the group back in her corner. Thus, a lunch spent forcing laughter and feigning interest in the gossip about the boring lives of the Sunnydale flock. Cordelia was exhausted and edgy.

"Hi, how are you?"

Cordelia whirled. "What's your-? Oh."

The girl had dark hair with forest-green streaks. Ragged bangs obscured one eye. The other eye was large and dark. She wore navy-blue track pants with two red stripes down the side and a royal-blue T-shirt with _Less Than Jake_ and a logo of an alligator-headed Pez dispenser mounted to a rocket. A chunky diver's watch encircled her left wrist. She shifted her weight from side to side in a little hopping motion.

"You may not remember me," she said. "I'm Casey Porter. We were, you know, back around Homecoming, sorry I haven't spoken to you since, I know it's been, like, four months, but I wanted to ask if you were okay."

Cordelia blinked in the face of the verbal hurricane. "I remember you. Don't wig about the not talking. It's okay. Really." She turned back to her locker.

"I'm sorry if I'm in your space, I know I'm a sophomore and you're a senior, but my mom says I kind of have this thing, where I can tell what people are feeling, and I really wanted know if you're okay and give you this."

Cordelia turned back, a hot retort forming on her lips. Casey's arm was outstretched, one of those friendship bracelets dangling from her hand. A red bolt flashed through Cordelia's head; her first reaction was to grab the thing from the girl's hand and throw it on the ground. Her eyes focused on it and she frowned.

"It's maroon and gold," she said.

"Yeah," Casey said. "School colors, since you're a cheerleader. I know it's crummy but, uh, I never said 'thank you' for everything you did, so..." Her voice trailed away.

"You stayed and talked to the police," Cordelia said.

"Yeah, but I wouldn't have been alive to do that if you weren't there, and I never did really tell you that, and I just really thought today that I needed to tell you that and give you this bracelet, even if it is kind of lame." Casey blinked and Cordelia realized that the younger girl was about to cry. She reached out and took the bracelet from Casey's hand.

"It's not that lame. You made it yourself," Cordelia said. "Thanks."

"Thank you. I hope everything's okay." Casey ducked her head and walked away. Cordelia took a deep breath and crumpled the bracelet in her fist. She glanced down the hall. The trash can was too far away. She could throw it away later. She stuffed the string bracelet in her pocket as she turned back to her locker.

Giles jumped as the library door banged open. Stefan Warner crossed the open space in a few loping strides and rested his forearms on the counter.

"Can I help you?" Giles asked.

"Schoolwise, no," Warner said. "But I could do with a quick sit-rep."

"A what?" Giles said.

"Sit-rep. Situation report."

"Oh," Giles said. "Well, I've heard nothing from the Council-"

"No, no, not the Council." Warner raised a hand. "Unless they send another pair of assassins, out of sight equals out of mind. I'm asking about the kids."

"The kids?" Giles said.

"Yeah, you know, the students, the barely developed humans filling the halls of this place. Matti said that Cordelia was absent yesterday, missed cheerleading practice, which I gather is a very rare event. Today she shows up at school looking like a rocket-powered _femme fatale_. An e-mail tells me that Xander Harris is in the hospital and it seems that Faith is nowhere to be found. I don't think I'm Kreskin to assume that those might all be connected."

Giles took a deep breath and thought. "Well, it seems that Faith had sex with Xander, and Cordelia found out."

Warner winced. "Ouch. So did Cordelia brain him with a lamp or something?"

"No. Buffy and Willow think that Faith might have been involved. They went to her motel room. It was empty. Xander was found by the railroad tracks. Xander's injuries are serious, but apparently not life-threatening. No one knows where Faith is. Does that bring you up to date?"

"I guess so. Wow." Warner looked down at his hands clasped on the counter. "Bad timing, huh?"

"Yes, one could say that."

"Well, I'd better go find Matti." Warner shoved off the counter. "She'll want to talk to Cordelia."

Giles frowned. His mouth opened and closed. Warner noticed the gesture.

"Matti's a teacher and Cordelia's her student. She really likes the girl." He smiled. "Does that seem strange to you?"

Giles stiffened. "What are you trying to say?"

"Listen, I know you're under a lot of stress right now, and I'm probably just talking out of my hat, but did you notice that once you mentioned Cordelia finding out about Xander and Faith, you didn't say anything else about her? Does her pain not matter?"

Giles pursed his lips. Warner held up his hands. "Hey, sorry. Like I said, I know it's a hard time. You've got to worry about the Slayer and the Council and this business with the Seal. That's plenty for one man's plate. Forget I said anything." He turned and left the library.

Giles watched the door swing slightly on its hinges. "Not bloody likely," he whispered to himself.

The white van stopped in front of Sunnydale High. Buffy and Willow jogged down the steps and jumped in, Willow in the front passenger seat, Buffy on the bench.

"Hey," Oz said.

"Hey yourself," Buffy said, leaning forward between them. "I understand big congrats are in order."

Oz took a deep breath and blinked. "Yeah."

"When did you wake up?" Willow asked.

"About twenty minutes ago." He rubbed a hand through his hair. It looked even spikier. "We ready to go?"

The van pulled away from the curb. As Oz turned the wheel, Willow turned to Buffy.

"So, how did your fact-finding go?"

Buffy shrugged. "Facts were found. Some of them unsavory."

"Why were you looking for unsavory facts?" Oz asked, looking in the rear-view mirror.

"We, uh, we went to Cordelia's house. There was a bit of an encounter," Willow said.

"Close encounter?" Oz asked.

"Of the worst kind," Buffy said.

"Share?" Willow asked.

"Not yet," Buffy said. "A little too Maury Povich."

"OK," Willow said. "End of questions."

"Cool," said Oz. He glanced in the rear-view. "Have you seen _Batman Beyond?_ It's awesome."

Buffy smiled. "Thanks, Oz."

"Don't mention it. It really is a great show."

And so they passed the time discussing animated superheroes until they pulled into the hospital parking lot. They fell silent as they crossed the parking lot. Once they were in the main lobby, Willow pulled them to a small chapel. "Okay," she said. "Hold really still."

"Why?" Buffy said.

"I'm going to use a glammer to hide us."

"Really?" Oz said.

"I don't want the nurse telling us we can't see him. This way we'll just walk in and nobody will be the wiser."

Buffy frowned. "Why are we doing it down here?"

"Oh." Willow shrugged. "It's wise to keep magick as far away from complicated electronics as possible."

"Like medical equipment?" Oz said.

"Exactamundo. So it's best to do the spell down here." Willow looked around. "Now, hold still." She moved her hands and murmured words under her breath.

Buffy looked down at her body. "Did it work?"

Willow grinned. "Of course it did. I did it." They left the chapel and walked to the elevator, and anyone watching thought it passing strange that the elevator opened and closed on an empty car.

They got out on the fourth floor. A half-dozen people were scattered through the hallway; a couple at the nurse's station, one leaning against the wall, three in a waiting room across from the elevator. Buffy looked at Willow. The redhead mouthed something. Buffy leaned forward, concentrating. Willow did it again. Buffy realized that she was saying "Xander's family." The Slayer nodded. The trio crept down the hallway, staying as far away from people as possible. They slipped around the two people at the nurse's station and through the open door of the ICU enclosure.

A hard-looking woman with dark hair and pale skin sat at the bedside. Buffy looked at Willow, who mouthed "Xander's mom." The Slayer nodded and looked at Xander.

A plethora of wires and tubes snaked to various body parts. His right arm was enclosed in a cast. His face was marred by several abrasions and small cuts. A blanket was pulled over him, but Buffy could see a large mound under the cover where his left leg would be. She assumed it was some sort of splint to stabilize his knee.

Buffy looked down at her friend, his face so pale and drawn. Florestan's words flashed across her consciousness: 'You are the shepherdess who guards the flock until we are hungry.' Anger, bright and hot and diamond-hard, filled her soul.

_I am the shepherd_, she thought, _and nobody is touching anyone in my care._


	8. Chapter 8

They decloaked back in the chapel. Silence ruled until they were once again in the van.

"He looked awful," Willow said as Oz put the vehicle in gear. Buffy nodded. Willow continued, staring blankly through the windshield, "Xander's so _alive_, you know? To see him like that, it was just so... so wrong."

"He's been hurt before," Oz said.

"Not like this," Buffy said. "I know what Willow means. Xander has lots of faults, but he's always _there_. He's never been down like this."

"He was just _lying_ there." Willow shook her head. A moment of tense silence hung heavy in the air.

"So, that was his family?" Oz asked.

"Yeah," Willow said.

"Who was the guy who kept trying to smoke next to the oxygen valve?" Buffy asked.

"His uncle Rory." After Willow's response, they were quiet for a while. Oz broke the spell.

"Where can we drop you, Buffy?"

"Home," the Slayer said. "I gotta get ready for patrol."

"Is that a good idea?" Willow asked.

"Gotta be done. Faith's not here and, to be honest, I need to get outside. Seeing Xander like that really shook me up, and a little Slayer-based carnage could be just what I need to settle my nerves."

Oz glanced in the mirror. "I've got to stay in tonight." He shot a look at Willow. "You all right watching her back?"

"No need," the Slayer said firmly. "I've got an idea."

* * *

*******

Buffy ambled down the sidewalk, her senses alert for any commotion. As the last light of the sun drained from the sky the evening cooled, turning toward cold. She congratulated herself for stopping at home to pick up a hoody. She turned up the long concrete driveway and approached the door. She hit it three times with the side of her fist, listening to the booming echoes fade away. She raised her hand to knock again when the door was jerked open.

"Put on your party shoes," she said. "Might want to grab a jacket. It's a little cold tonight."

"Buffy?" Angel said.

* * *

*******

"And you came to me, why?" Angel asked as he tugged at the lapels of his leather jacket to settle the garment on his shoulders.

"You're the last man standing," Buffy said. "Xander's in the hospital, Faith's in the wind, Oz and Willow are busy because tonight is Oz's time of the month. I need someone to patrol with me and I assumed your social calendar was pretty open."

"Wait." Angel shook his head. "_What_ about Xander? Faith?"

"Oh, yeah, you're not in the loop." Buffy took a deep breath and said, "Xander slept with Faith, causing Cordelia to wig, then Faith left town. At some point, Xander went to the rail yard and ended up doing a Humpty Dumpty. I believe you understand about Oz and Willow. And since I have these-" she touched her neck "-I need to patrol on the buddy system. Got it?"

Angel squinted. "Xander slept with Faith?"

Buffy rolled her eyes as her breath huffed out in disgust. "Yes, and it's caused just as much trouble as you'd think."

"And Xander's in the hospital? How did that happen?"

"No one's really sure, but he was found out by the train yard. Faith had to get out of town some way, so maybe she was looking to hop a train, Xander went to talk to her and mayhem ensued."

"Do you think she'd do that?"

"I think that right now Faith is a loaded gun and she'll go off in whatever direction she's pointed." Buffy jerked her head toward the street. "C'mon, let's shake a leg."

* * *

*******

"Wow." Buffy looked around the patch of open ground. "There's so much ash here it looks like the fire department had a practice burn."

"Yeah." Angel crouched, his fingers brushing the fine gray powder. "Lots of different bodies on the floor."

"They're all over the place," Buffy said, walking back and forth, taking care not to step in the scattered vampire remains. "What happened?"

Angel stood, brushing his hands on his jeans. "I'd say that the war between the Reverend and Trick just went up a notch."

"I don't get that. What is this war? One week they're working together, the next they're at each other's throats, sorry for the lousy joke. What gives?"

"Trick broke the rules. Or a rule." Angel stared into the night as though he could see the shadows of the fleeing vampires.

"What rule?" Buffy stopped her traverse of the area and looked back at him.

"Remember Christmas?"

Buffy nodded. "Yeah. The creepy girl who wasn't a girl? She's part of this?"

Angel turned to face her. "She's all of it. When Trick took her, he crossed a line in the Reverend's mind. She was off-limits."

"Why?"

Angel shrugged. "You don't touch angels."

"Okay, just a minute." Buffy put her hands on her hips. "We're dealing with _angels_ now? Did we just cross over with John Edward?"

"In Hampton's _mind_. Remember, vampires use the expired human as a template. The Reverend believed in angels." Angel looked thoughtful. "Not that far-fetched really. Angels and demons are different sides of the same coin, according to _his_ cosmology."

"_Angel!_" Buffy stamped her foot. "Stop musing. What are you talking about?"

He looked at the Slayer. "They were never allies, not in any meaningful sense of the word. They each agreed not to step on the other's toes. It was a truce at best. Now it's broken. All bets are off."

"Got me a rock-and-roll band, it's a free-for-all," Buffy said.

"Yup."

"Is that a good? If the Reverend's going for Trick's throat, doesn't that make them each other's worst enemy?"

"In theory."Angel stepped over the crystallized remains until he reached the sidewalk. "In practice, vampire wars are never good for anyone in the vicinity. I don't think there's anything here. It's cold. We should go."

* * *

*******

"Are we tracking the winners of that little skirmish back there?" Buffy asked.

Angel nodded. "Whoever came out on top is going to be stoked, like Little Leaguers ready for ice cream. Anyone crosses their path will be in a world of hurt."

"Unless we stop them."

They walked through the night in silence, senses alert.

"I think they're up ahead." Angel put a hand on Buffy's arm. "Let me scout."

"Why?" Buffy hissed.

"To see if those will be a problem." He touched her neck.

The Slayer flinched and anger flared in her eyes, but common sense won the day. "Okay. I'll wait over there." She pointed to an oak tree. "When you give me the thumbs up, I'll come in with the fists of fury." As Angel slipped away in the darkness, she flattened her back against the tree.

She waited, her breathing shallow as she stared into the darkness. A shadow detached itself from the deeper gloom. Angel waved his hand. Buffy pushed away from the tree and jogged to him.

They crouched beside a hedge. Angel gestured over his head. "Six of them," he hissed. "Definitely the Reverend's. They're prowling. You ready?"

"You have to ask?"

"Not really." They vaulted over the hedge and landed in the back yard of a modest brick house. Warm yellow light spilled through the windows. Buffy caught a glimpse of a family, watching something animated on TV. Looked like a feature from Pixar.

The ambient light from the house and the street lights cast a weak illumination over the first third of the back yard. The dark line of the hedge marked the boundary, and the Slayer could see darker shadows against it. Angel was right. Six of them. As Angel edged away from her, the shadows detached themselves from the background and moved forward. The dim light was still enough to highlight grossly deformed canines and glittering eyes. The vampires spread out, arraying themselves in a loose semi-circle.

Buffy reached into her waistband and pulled out a stake in each hand. "Hi," she said brightly. "We got a call from Neighborhood Watch." And it was on.

She raced forward, aiming at the vampires directly in front of her. She figured this would divide them into two groups and she was right. Three of them turned toward Angel. The three in front of Buffy tensed as she charged. At the last minute, as their hands were reaching for her, the Slayer dropped and executed a perfect slide between the legs of the middle vamp. She dug in a heel and popped up, stake already whistling through the air as she turned in a backhanded strike. Her momentum carried her around and she went with it, turning the force into a spinning kick to the head of the vampire now on her left. She came to rest facing the third vampire, who barely registered her presence before she dispatched him. She dropped to one knee and the head-kicked vampire missed his grab, stumbling against her. Buffy leaned back and pushed up off the ground, flipping the demon up and over her head. It landed on its back, never to rise again.

The Slayer turned in time to see Angel kick a vampire in the groin. The creature dropped to its knees, eyes bulging. One vamp was already gone, either escaped or dusted, probably the latter. As Buffy ran toward the melee, Angel picked up a stake from the ground and dusted a vampire. The remaining demon struggled to its feet and attempted to limp away. The Slayer grabbed it by the collar of its tattered shirt and hauled it around to face her. The creature spat at her. She stabbed it through the heart and watched it dissolve. Her hand went to her cheek. She used the sleeve of her sweatshirt to wipe away the vampire's saliva.

"It's one thing to be evil," she said, "but that's just nasty."

"You okay?" Angel asked.

"Tip-top," she replied.

A light came on over the back door of the house. Buffy and Angel sprinted for the hedge and dived over it as the door opened.

"Who's there? Is anybody out there?" The man looked over the yard, then looked over his shoulder and said, "Nobody out here. Probably the neighbor's dog. Thing's a nuisance. There'll be hell to pay if I find any poop in the yard."


End file.
